Certain Dark Things
by coffeehigh
Summary: That Astoria never assumed things was both a blessing and a curse in the courtship of Draco Malfoy.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary:** That Astoria never assumed things was both a blessing and a curse in the courtship of Draco Malfoy.

**Disclaimer: **This story is based on the books and characters created and owned by J.K. Rowling, Scholastic and Warner Brothers. The title, the two lines after the title and the two ending lines all come from Pablo Neruda's Sonnet XVII. No money is being made from this. No infringement on copyright is intended.

**AN:** I guess this is both apology and warning: the following piece is shamefully self-indulgent. Warning for naughty words and the occasional crass Draco thought.

* * *

**Certain Dark Things**

_I love you as certain dark things are loved,_

_…..between the shadow and the soul._

_-Sonnet XVII from 100 love sonnets, __**Pablo Neruda**_

**Chapter One**_**  
**_

There were days when he wished she was one of those girls that assumed things. Like the way Pansy had_ known _that she would be his date to the Yule Ball, even before he had asked her. Or the way Pansy had _expected_ that they would fuck afterwards, so that when the time came for him to lead her from the Great Hall to that deserted classroom that he had Goyle guard for him, she practically dragged him there. Because truly, if Astoria merely confronted him with an assumption, it would have made his life so much easier.

However this was Astoria.

The person who he first met at a party in the Greengrass Estate, lurking in the balcony, wedged between the white marble handrail and the potted trees.

"Hiding, if you must know," she said at the time, answering his unspoken question. "If you could keep it down, you're more than welcome to stay."

If anything, he could appreciate the irony. Various single girls flirted, maximizing the opportunity this event afforded them and she, the cause for the celebration, was hiding at her own coming out party.

He could also appreciate the company. Because he was hiding too, hiding from the whispers and the censure and the pointed stares that inevitably would rest on his forearm. He didn't even know why he was invited to the party; he was thinking it was due to how Potter seemed to have pardoned the charges against his mother.

He recognized her because her mother had announced her when she stepped down the grand staircase into the glittering crowd in the ballroom. He remembered taking one look at her, with the blank expression, plastic smile and fluffy, virginal white dress and just as quickly dismissed her as all right but not quite as attractive as her sister Daphne.

What he didn't know was if she recognized him. Perhaps she didn't or she wouldn't have been so willing when she gave him permission to share her hiding space.

"I'm Draco Malfoy." He felt it was only fair to introduce himself, a sort of warning regarding the poor company that she was keeping.

"I gathered." She whispered at the same time motioned with her hands to silence him. "Daphne pointed you out once in school. You were shorter then."

He felt like laughing at that. He was many things while in Hogwarts. Arrogant. Idiotic. Former Death Eater. Shorter, although true, was the least of the list.

She peered around his shoulder as if looking for something, or someone in the ballroom. He felt heat rise in his cheeks and he recognized the feeling. He had spent the better part of his post-war life listening to half-baked excuses as to why people needed to leave his company when they could not in polite company really say the truth- that they did not like to be seen with him. And she was looking around his shoulder, as if taking notes on who was keeping watch, like she was ashamed to be seen talking to him.

"I better leave you alone, Greengrass." The words were out quickly. Better him saying them than her.

But before he could continue, she raised a finger to her lips and placed her other hand on his mouth to silence him.

"Shh."

"…oh, Ravenclaw has taught my daughter well. I assure you she can manage household finances, throw magnificent parties. This party, in fact, was partly organized by…" The voice wafted to them then faded from the ballroom despite the closed the French doors.

"And there's that." The finality in her impertinent voice caused a side of his mouth to turn upward.

Her hand covering his mouth felt soft against his lips and the clean scent of oranges wafted to his nose. He resisted the urge to inhale deeply or to move his lips again in hopes of resolving their strange tingling.

Draco gently removed her hand from his mouth. It was an act of self preservation.

"Was she supposed to be describing you?" He turned to her, amusement genuine.

"Out by 18, married by 20, an heir by 21. Oh, as if you don't know the drill." The warmth of her lopsided grin stopped him. Her hand was still in his and he knew, _was certain_ that when he lets go, she would not wipe it against the waste of cloth that her mother called a ball gown.

When he met her green eyes, half amused and half wary, he realized that there was something missing. Something that made him drop her hand and pull up short.

"You're a fool, Greengrass." He meant it too. "Not that many acceptable purebloods out there."

He watched as she shrugged a dramatic, Gallic shrug. "Purebloods don't seem all that fashionable these days, with Harry being named Witch Weekly's Bachelor of the Year, two years counting." Her voice was heavy with sarcasm. And he realized, she meant it too.

888

On very rare days, Draco would brave The Leaky Cauldron. These usually occurred when he needed to do business in Gringotts and the thirty minute line of the public floo system to his home was too long of a wait to get sloshed.

This was one of those days and he chose, like he always did, a table in the back, under the shadow of a stone archway and nursed a glass of Firewhiskey.

She entered an hour later, when he was well into his fourth glass. She didn't seem to notice him. She didn't seem to notice anything. She merely took the table next to his, propped open a book- _Potions for Health_- and signaled to a waitstaff. She distractedly ordered a meal and quickly went back to reading, only looking up to thank the guy for her order before promptly falling back into her text.

He observed her over the rim of his glass and found himself shaking his head at the image she presented. Her hair was in a messy bun, glasses were perched on her nose and her eyes had the squint lines of someone who read too much.

_Ravenclaw,_ her mother had said. And Astoria Greengrass definitely filled the stereotype. Draco felt she should have listened to her mother and dated the guy she was being introduced to during her coming out ball, because that night she had been made up nicely and unlike now, didn't look like she would bore people to sleep.

He opened his mouth to tease her about dating her book when a gruff voice called out.

"What's scum like you doing here, Malfoy."

There were three of them, all stocky with muscled arms curled around three thickly made up witches. They seemed to be headed upstairs to the rooms above the Leaky Cauldron. Of the three, he recognized one of them.

_A Gryffindor._

He concentrated, trying to attach a name to his face.

_McLaggen._

Draco steadied himself, biting back the words that he wanted to say. He thought three years ago, before the war, he would have said something. Two years ago, immediately after the war, although he made up his mind to stay away from public scrutiny, he might not have been able to control himself. Today, he'd like to believe that he knew better. He'd like to believe that two years of a confiscated wand and banned Apparition, two years of veiled threats to his mother when he made small moves out of line, and two years of public shunning was a long enough time to sober him.

But he couldn't bring himself to reply nicely. So he chose to ignore them.

"Maybe you should give yourself up to the Aurors. I heard they're looking for live target practice. Nothing like real screams to sharpen skills."

"Potter may be soft, letting you off like that, but we think you should join your buddies Azkaban." Draco stared determinedly at the bottom of his glass.

"Well, he wouldn't have any buddies there," McLaggen interrupted his friend, "because if the story's correct, one of his baby Death Eater bodyguards burned to death in Hogwarts.

The blood rushing to Draco's face made the room feel warm.

_His name was Vincent._

Crabbe's actions may not have been accepted in this new magical world, but he was still a friend. He shared a room with the guy for six years. It felt wrong that he would be relegated to the term baby Death Eater bodyguard.

But before he could speak, a dry, calm voice chimed in from the side.

"Boys," Astoria's voice sounded bored. Although still sitting with her book floating in front of her, she already had her wand out. "Perhaps you should take your ladies upstairs and stop paying Malfoy attention. Before the girls start wondering if you are actually interested _in girls_."

The three wizards stared at her incredulously. Draco sympathized with them. He could hardly believe himself that she had just insulted three men, each twice her size, without even a note of nervousness.

One of the men must have realized that she was just a distraction because he refocused on Draco.

"Without big bad Voldemort around, you're just a pussy aren't you, Malfoy, needing a girl to defend you," he sneered. "Especially one so…." The look he threw Astoria was something that Draco was familiar with. It was the same expression that had resided on his face whenever he came across Ron Weasley.

And before he could stop himself, his fist had connected with the closest of the three. The guy stumbled backwards, taking with him the girl he had his arm around and careened into McLaggen. The ensuing chaos was one Draco was prepared for and he vaulted over the table, taking advantage of their surprise to slip past them. He held out his hand towards Astoria, who looked at it surprised.

"You started it," Draco said. "I can't leave you here."

She got over her surprise quickly enough to stuff her book into her bag.

Then they ran.

They were eight blocks away before they stopped.

"For the record-" she sounded breathless- "Malfoy, _you_ started it."

If it were possible to laugh in one's thought that was what he was doing at the moment.

"I wasn't the one who called them homosexual." He was winded as well. He forced himself up from his stooped forward position.

"_Implied._ Not called. And _you threw_ the first punch." She laughed which quickly turned into a coughing fit. She was red in the face when she stopped but she forced her next words through. "I wish you let them finish what they thought of me, though. I wanted to have reasonable cause when I cursed them. And I wish you actually let me curse them."

"Why bother?" The question was something he didn't mean to ask. Not that he thought they weren't worth cursing, but rather why had she gone out of her way to defend him.

He leaned against the wall opposite her, waiting for his breathing to normalize.

She gave him a shrug, again that very Gallic shrug. "You weren't doing anything. If you did something wrong, I would have sided with them."

She was just beginning to catch her breath. Her breasts were still heaving beneath her robes, her cheeks were in high color and her hair had slipped from her bun and had fallen around her shoulders, disheveled. His mind made connections the way all male minds made connections. He forced himself to look away.

"You know," she said, "your punch works as well but I thought using a wand would have been better." Her cold rationality so far fazed Draco. He thought he was over his reaction to public opinion but his face burned again. He mumbled his reply.

"Sorry. Didn't catch that."

"No wand." His answer was forced through gritted teeth.

"Oh, so you really are just happy to see me."

His head snapped towards hers, surprised at her comment. Her face showed amusement and he realized that she was teasing him. If he'd been the one who was ran out of a pub and dragged across Diagon Alley by a criminal who had just admitted his sentence, he'd be furious. She, on the other hand, just took everything in stride and could see enough humor in the situation to make a joke. A sexually charged, extremely embarrassing, highly inappropriate one, but a joke still.

"It was confiscated. I was tried by the Wizengamot. The details weren't made public."

"Because you were a minor."

He was impressed that she knew that piece of Wizarding law. Then he remembered, _Ravenclaw._

He nodded then continued. "There were extenuating circumstances but what those wizards in the Leaky thought weren't true. I wasn't exactly found innocent and they did punish me. They were just more…"

"Creative with punishment?" She finished. "How long?"

"Two years. Can't Apparate. Can't travel abroad. It's nearly over now."

There. He admitted that he was found guilty. Everybody else had merely speculated, but since trials of minors were closed to the public, he never really talked about the details of his punishment to anyone except his mother.

He expected derision, but her eyes were clear and mostly curious.

"Two years. Living without Apparition, perhaps, but I don't think I'd last that long without a wand."

His last encounter with her came back to his mind, how he had seen something missing in her eyes that made him step back. And he finally realized what it was.

_Judgement._

Astoria made absolutely no assumptions regarding him.

"Look, I don't know if _you_ actually _know_ how to go home from here. I can take you. Side along Apparation."

It was so tempting. Draco pursed his lips. "I can't."

"Think of it as my thank you for saving my ego back there." Noting his expression, she gave a sigh. "I won't tell the Aurors."

"I know you won't." And Draco found that he really believed her. "But I'll floo home."

She nodded, a ghost of a smile on her lips. "Good choice." Then with a turn and a pop, she was gone.

888

A week later found him sitting at one of the guest lounges at St. Mungo's waiting for her shift to end.

Trainee Healer.

It was so far off from the 'girl who can manage household finances and throw magnificent parties' and all the other pureblood wife skills her mother had mentioned she had. It was so….

_…Ravenclaw._

He shifted around in the rough wooden chair. It was an hour and a half ago when he informed one of the nurses, a middle aged, stern looking witch that he was there to see Trainee Healer Greengrass and Astoria still wasn't in sight. He didn't know if the nurse even gave her his message. The nurse's sneer when he said his name was punctuated with an impolite stare at his forearm. He pursed his lips to keep them from falling into a sneer of his own, thinking that any outward sign of displeasure would mean his message might end up undelivered.

At two hours past his first arrival at St. Mungo's, Draco stood up for the nth time, purposely avoiding the middle aged witch and approached one of the younger nurses, a blonde, with unusually red cheeks and shiny lipstick.

"I've been waiting for Trainee Healer Greengrass? They told me she was off at five. It's seven. Has there been something keeping her?" Malfoy flashed a charming smile. The young witch batted her eyelashes at him and smiled back. "I'll send her a no-"

"You'll do nothing of the kind Zenia," a voice interrupted. The stern looking witch, who a moment ago was on the other side of the counter, faced Draco. "Mr. Malfoy," _a sneer_, "your message has been delivered to Healer Greengrass. We've tolerated your presence here. But if your kind isn't used to waiting, you may feel free to use our exits."

Draco clutched his forearm unconsciously. He was surprised how fast his face had fallen into a sneer. "And what is my kind exactly madam?"

She gave a pointed look at his forearm before meeting his eyes. "We've delivered your message."

Draco resisted the urge to shout. But what would he say anyway? That his father would hear about this?

All around, it felt like other visitors were looking at him. He hoped that his face, pale as it was, wasn't red, from anger or shame or any combination of the two. He tried to ignore the whispers as he walked calmly towards the front doors.

He was a block away when he realized that somebody was calling his name. It took a firm grasp on his forearm to stop him.

"_What!_" The snarl was out before he could stop himself. He tried to snatch his arm back and spun around to confront his assailant.

Then he realized it was her. She must have run all the way from St. Mungo's to catch him.

She teetered backwards in surprise and it took her hand still grasping his forearm and his other arm encircling her waist to prevent her fall.

"They told me you just left." She sounded breathless. "They said you were there, waiting, then you just left."

"They told me you were off at five. It's," he took his antique pocket watch from his robes and snapped it open as if to emphasize his point, "seven."

"I always get off at seven." Her voice was nonchalant. "I'm training to be a Healer. We're overworked and underpaid. You should have sent an owl yesterday or this morning saying that you were planning on visiting. I would have asked for one of the other healers to cover for me so I can take off early."

"I told one of the nurses that I would see you after work."

"That's what they told me. But I still couldn't get off earlier. Not without prior notice."

"Work should have ended at five. You should have gone down to the lounge at five. You do know that Malfoys do not wait?"

She rolled her eyes at him. "Yeah, and Greengrass girls _do not_ get jobs. But things have changed since the war. Money gets depleted. So there's a first time for everything."

He huffed at her comment but her wry smile drained the ire out of him.

He wanted to tell her that it wasn't the waiting that got to him, that although Malfoys don't wait, after two years of waiting for food to cook without the aid of magic, two years of waiting at Floo lines, two years of waiting for his sentence to end, he had gotten used to waiting. But he couldn't really bring himself to tell her about the stares. He could just imagine how she would scoff at his indignation.

So he steered clear of the topic instead. "You know," he began, "I don't really recall Daphne even considering working."

"She didn't and she isn't." Her grin widened. "Let me change my reason. I felt it a waste of my N.E.W.T.s to just plan parties."

Her eyes were crinkled at the corners at her own cockiness. Draco couldn't look away.

Her hand was still resting on his forearm and his arm was still around her waist supporting her and before reason and doubt reentered his mind, he had asked her out.

He wondered if he imagined her yes.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary:** That Astoria never assumed things was both a blessing and a curse in the courtship of Draco Malfoy.

**Disclaimer: **This story is based on the books and characters created and owned by J.K. Rowling, Scholastic and Warner Brothers. The title and the two lines of poetry come from Pablo Neruda's Sonnet XVII. No money is being made from this. No infringement on copyright is intended.

**Certain Dark Things**

**Chapter Two**

_I love you as the plant that never blooms  
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;  
-Sonnet XVII _from_ 100 love sonnets,__** Pablo Neruda**_

Three days later, he braved the lobby of St. Mungo's and the nasty nurse's gaze as he waited for Astoria. When she stepped down to meet him, not a minute later than their agreed upon six, he had expected Healer's robes and glasses and he was struck with the realization that he wouldn't have minded.

Instead he got an elegant black dress, hair falling in waves around her smooth shoulders and a dainty pearl necklace nestled in a most intriguing hollow at the base of her neck.

Draco had to swallow several times past the lump in his throat.

"Draco." Her voice was low and husky and soft and its tone seemed to be for his ears alone.

He thought of the things Pansy had told him back at Hogwarts, about how he was to compliment girls, that he should start with flattering adjectives and then mention their hair or their dress but all he could think about was how under the bright aseptic lights, Astoria's skin glowed golden. And how her dress showed quite a lot of it. His tongue felt leaden and stuck to the roof of his mouth.

"Are you all right?" Astoria's forehead was furrowed. "You look flushed. Is it that cold out?"

And Draco realized that the opportunity for complimenting her had passed. He cleared his throat. "Umm… Yes, quite. I hope you brought a coat."

They walked the two blocks to the restaurant. Ideally they would have Apparated there. He remembered how his mother would complain to his father if she had to walk far distances in her dragonhide pumps. When he mumbled something close to an apology for letting her walk, Astoria replied: "Don't tell me Malfoys don't walk."

It was probably the first time that he felt apologetic for his elitist tastes and mortified by the thought that he just might have to admit it. But the amused look she gave him assuaged something inside him and he found himself biting back a wry grin.

The restaurant Draco took Astoria to was one of those places where reservations were needed but his family never had problems in the past getting a table without them and he didn't think to bother. But that was before the war. And a part of Draco refused to test if the same courtesy would be extended to his name at present times.

They were stopped by a wizard wearing a waistcoat and a top hat at the door. Draco held his breath and gave the maitre d' his most impatient look. He assessed their clothes with a calculating smile and told them that if they were willing to wait for ten minutes then they were sure to be seated.

"We've never had problems getting a table before so I didn't bother with reservations." Draco told Astoria, trying for smug, trying not to sound defensive. She eyed him critically but she avoided commenting and Draco was suddenly afraid of what she was thinking.

"Is there anything wrong?" Draco's forehead furrowed. "Is ten minutes too long?"

She shook her head the amused smile was back on her lips. "I was thinking that dinner at Bellisima definitely makes up for my hospital food lunch." Her smile widened. "So thank you for that."

It had started to snow and little white flakes drifted down and tangled in her hair and eyelashes. Her lips were red from the temperature. Despite the cold, Draco felt unusually warm. He loosened his scarf.

"Why don't you just order better food?" He asked. He knew- despite Astoria's quip the other day about Greengrass girls needing to get jobs- that they managed to escape the war with their wealth and social standing intact.

"I don't like people thinking that _I think_ I'm better than them." She turned the collar of her coat up then moved to do the same to his collar. "It's not a good attitude for a Healer to have. Besides I'm _**not **_better."

He was so distracted by the feel of her fingertips against his neck that he almost didn't notice the maitre d' hovering beside them.

"Ahem…" The wizard was trying to get their attention. Draco then realized that something must have gone wrong. Instead of a smile, he gave them both a disdainful look.

"_Mr. Malfoy,_ we are fully booked and I'm afraid there won't be a table available," he said unctuously. Draco felt his stomach clench. It was what he had feared would happen. All around them, he could feel people staring. He turned to Astoria, humiliated, when her expression stopped him short.

"You told us that a table would be available after ten minutes," she told the wizard. She had both hands on her hips.

"Yes." The wizard met her expression of disdain with one of his own. "Well it seems we are now fully booked."

Draco grabbed her arm. "Look, let's just go."

"You-" Astoria jabbed her finger against the maitre d's chest. "-made us wait ten minutes. For nothing!"

"Well young lady, we do try to maintain a certain degree of decorum around here." The wizard's disdain increased. "Which is why we do not allow certain types of people in."

"And what type would that be?"

"Why his kind, of course!" The wizard gave her an incredulous look. "Malfoys! Death Eaters! I'm assuming proper lady that you are that you merely didn't know."

"Are you implying that I am stupid and ill informed, you- you- condescending, sycophantic, self-righteous idiot? If Harry Potter could find it in him to pardon Mr. Malfoy, I don't see what right you have to condemn him."

"Testa di cazzo!" The wizard muttered. "Well then we can't allow you in here in the future."

Astoria merely shrugged and was already halfway across the street when to Draco's surprise and mortification, she turned around. "It's Greengrass by the by," she shouted to the wizard. "Astoria Greengrass. Just so you know who you're banning from this place."

Draco would give both arms and legs, even his name- for what it's worth- to be able to Disapparate at that moment. He was half running and he knew he should slow down for her but all he wanted to do was to get away. Away from the incessant murmuring of the other people in line.

The clicking of her heels against the pavement suddenly stopped. Then he heard her call after him.

"Draco, we've had four meetings, three of which involved some amount of running. I'm beginning to think I can never wear heels when I'm with you."

He spun around. She was a few meters behind him, out of breath. How she managed to keep up with him in that dress, in those heels he had no idea. Why was she even bothering to go after him was beyond him.

"You always have some witty comment, don't you? Didn't you realize what that prick called you?" Draco hated the fact that he sounded bitter. He hated himself more when he saw her expression darken.

"Yes, I speak Italian. I understood him perfectly, Draco." Her tone was dry. "He was stupid and impolite and frankly annoying. But it's also true that I am in a date with a former Death Eater."

He looked away from her. This was where she would say _thanks for the evening but I have early rounds tomorrow_ or something and he would try to shrug it off nonchalantly. And if he was asked where it went wrong, he would say she wasn't pretty enough and was boring as hell except he would only be comforting his ego.

He shook his head and tried to swallow the feeling of embarrassment that was creeping up to tinge his cheeks. "I'll just take you home then."

She stared at him intently and Draco was suddenly afraid of what she was seeing.

Warily, she asked, "aren't we having dinner?"

"Huh?"

Astoria threw her hands up. "What do you want me to say Draco? I said yes to a date tonight understanding the repercussions. So we're banned from Bellisima. I'm hungry. Let's just go to muggle London."

He felt his mortification increase. Malfoys never deign to step out into muggle London let alone take dates there. Not when the date in question dressed up to eat at a place like Bellisima.

As if reading his mind, she rolled her eyes. "Not good enough for a Malfoy?"

888

He took his first step into Muggle London.

And felt nothing.

The earth didn't shatter. The pure blood coursing through his veins did not boil with the contamination. The shade of Lucius Malfoy did not rise up with the howling of the wind to tell him off for his treachery.

The world remained quite unchanged, with the only difference being something, somewhere inside of him.

It was a bit anti-climactic, and Draco was struck with three quarters of relief and a quarter of disappointment.

"It's safe enough," Astoria declared, "unless we step into Soho." Then she stopped and jerked abruptly, "Unless, of course if you're into that, and I'm reading this totally wrong."

He couldn't quite follow what she was saying, so he did something that had worked in the past for him when dealing with the younger girls in Hogwarts. He reached for her hand.

She jerked to a stop. He saw the hesitancy in her face and was relieved that he wasn't the only one discomfited.

"So…" his voice trailed off and in hopes of distracting himself from leering at her lips- and lower- he grasped around for something- anything- to say. "You speak Italian?"

"Yeah." She raised an eyebrow. "You don't?"

Her tone was condescending. He felt his cheeks flush and the mortification that he barely kept at bay all evening rose up again. He wondered if this was it. She would finally call him out for being the source of all evil or something or other. Then he noted the twitching of her lips and the crinkling of the corners of her eyes.

He threw her a withering expression. "Nerd."

Her snort rapidly grew into full blown laughter, so unlike the practiced musical titters common among their kind that Draco couldn't help but join in the laughter himself.

The way her eyes twinkled under the muggle street lamps took his breath away.

"Astoria."

He realized that it was the first time that he called her by name. Although in his mind, she was always Astoria, in public he had only used her surname.

She shivered.

He lifted his scarf from his neck and twined it around her own. His hand went from the scarf to her cheek to her lips and he felt a sudden rush of her breath against his palm as she sighed. As he captured her next sigh with his lips, he realized that it didn't matter whether they were in Bellisima or in muggle London. What mattered was the feel of her lips, cool and slightly chapped but soft, so very soft, yielding gently to a hidden warmth.

In the month afterwards, he learned that with him, she treated him exactly as how he presented himself to her, and that _she never assumed_, not the way everyone else did. She never assumed that he had gotten off unfairly for his crime, never assumed that he had not repented, never assumed that the war had left him a broken excuse of a person incapable of human emotion aside from anger and bitterness and resentment. The last, of course, was his assumption of himself.

* * *

**AN:** Thanks to all those who enjoyed the previous chapter. The feedback means a lot.

Unlike a great majority of HP fandom, I'm not a Draco fan and I've never found the urge to write Draco before for reasons too long to elaborate on here. Which is why I'm a little bit skeptical about writing this. But Neruda's poem spoke and to me it felt like how Draco would feel love thus there are always firsts.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary:** That Astoria never assumed things was both a blessing and a curse in the courtship of Draco Malfoy.

**Disclaimer: **This story is based on the books and characters created and owned by J.K. Rowling, Scholastic and Warner Brothers. The title and the two lines of poetry come from Pablo Neruda's Sonnet XVII. No money is being made from this. No infringement on copyright is intended.

**Certain Dark Things**

**Chapter Three**  
_I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.  
-Sonnet XVII _from_ 100 love sonnets,__** Pablo Neruda**_

He had always assumed that dates were about dressing up, going to grand places and being seen by the right people. All those pureblood witches his mother liked certainly implied that they should be.

Dates with Astoria were completely different creatures. Sometimes she would insist they dress down and they would end up at some seedy wizarding establishment. Other times they would go to some muggle park to have picnics. The occasional times when they would go to a fine place, it would always be in muggle London.

It was all so… _plebian._

But what discomfited him more was the fact that Astoria never seemed fazed no matter how mundane their dates were. He didn't know what troubled him more: that he did not know if this was her tastes or if she was merely adjusting to the fact that he might never be able to enter the right place or be seen by the right people.

Then his doubts would always vanish when he took her to bed after. He liked how she never flinched when his arm, pale skin marred by the Dark Mark, would brush against her skin. He liked the way she shouted his name over and over in the final moments. He liked the exhaustion afterwards. It kept the nightmares at bay better than his old trusty Odgen's- something that he could hardly afford nowadays.

888

He was on his way out to spend the day with Astoria when his mother stopped him at the door.

"You've been going out a lot these days." Much to his chagrin, his mother combed back his hair with her fingers and straightened the shoulders of his shirt.

"I have decided to look more closely into business, mother." Draco knew the excuse was lame but the truth would lead to a lengthy conversation that would keep him in the house for hours.

"Oh poor baby. Don't worry, this hell is nearly over. Then we can get back our assets and hire as much help as we want." She smiled at him. "You don't have to tire yourself with this business."

Draco held his exasperation in check. "If I don't look into the few remaining businesses that we have left, we won't have any assets when this sentence is over."

"Well, your father also liked looking into the business himself." Then patting his cheek she continued. "And I think you're enjoying whatever you're doing because I've never seen you so happy before. Not even when you were in Hogwarts. I've never seen you smile this much."

His mother's words were ringing in his ears all the way to the Greengrass' estate.

888

Draco had been was dreading this day since Astoria had invited him two weeks ago to meet her family for luncheon.

He should have been suspicious. She timed the conversation post coitus while he was still awash with the good natured feelings brought about by afterglow and she started it by asking what he was doing on the day. When he said that he didn't have any definite plans, she casually mentioned the luncheon.

His clever, clever girl.

So here he was standing beneath the looming shadow of Astoria's massive home, figuratively quaking in his boots. The last time he was this frightened was when his father brought him to Lord Voldemort, although the quaking at the time had been literal.

Astoria's home, called The Greengrass' Estate according to the metal plaque hanging by the towering wrought iron gates- quite pompously, Draco thought which says something since he, _a Malfoy_, found it so- was surprisingly bright and warm for a massive place.

A contradiction to the greeting he received.

"Draco." Daphne's tone could have started glaciers out of water vapor. It was really out of place in the pink and white themed parlor, with its abundance of floral prints and frothy lace embroidery.

She pointedly remained seated at one such lace topped table and continued serving tea to Blaise Zabini, Daphne's boyfriend according to Astoria. At least he had the decency to cross the room and shake Draco's hand.

"Blaise," Draco greeted with some warmth. "Daphne," he said next, through gritted teeth.

"When Astoria spent less and less time at home, saying she needed to work, who knew what she was working on was you?" Daphne's laugh was high pitched and brittle. "Now that I think of it, she always liked bringing home stray puppies." Two splotches of color appeared on Blaise's cheeks as he threw a pitying look his way.

Draco bit his tongue harder.

"So Draco," Blaise cleared his throat, "what's been keeping you busy, old chap?"

Draco almost bit his tongue through and swallowed it. _Old chap? Really? Are you 80?_

"Torturing little girls and Potter fans, likely," Daphne sneered.

Draco's scathing reply was interrupted by a voice from the door.

"As opposed to you torturing our guests with boring conversation?" Astoria strong stride carried her next to him. As she reached for his hand and clasped it tightly, he felt some of his anger melt away. "We should lend you to the MLEs. They could use you to bore confessions out of street thugs. By the way, Daphne, I don't know why mother agreed to give you this room, but Trelawney wants her things back."

The quickly raised a napkin to his lips did nothing to muffle Zabini's snort. The glare that Daphne gave the other man made Draco ponder Blaise's mental health and he had to agree with the accuracy of Astoria's description of _that_ relationship - _straight from one war into the next._

As if sensing his mood, Astoria asked a house elf to bring in two glasses and a bottle of scotch.

Daphne raised an eyebrow. "Really Astoria? At noontime?"

"Yes Daphne, at noon time." Astoria sighed before muttering under her breath something that Draco thought sounded like: _because you don't really give me a choice. _He bit back a smirk and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.

Blaise however didn't have any violent reactions to drinking at noon, because the moment Daphne turned her attention away, he had discretely asked Astoria to top his tea with some of the scotch.

Daphne's pre-luncheon entertainment seemed to reflect the course of the entire day, much to Draco's misfortune.

888

It started sometime midway through the soup course.

"Astoria tells me you played Quidditch in school." Astoria's father stated, eying him cooly.

"Yes sir," Draco replied, grateful for the lack of quiver in his voice. "I was a seeker."

"Fat lot it did us!" Daphne returned with something that could only be described as malicious glee.

"I see." Mr. Greengrass leaned back as the soup vanished. "I guess asking about the Quidditch cup would just be impolite now, wouldn't it?"

This was followed by the main course.

"Blaise here is in import/export. Very similar to my business. Hopefully a merger will be in the future." Mr. Greengrass winked at his oldest daughter causing Blaise to blush and Daphne to beam like a debutant. Astoria started coughing incessantly. Draco patted her back lightly and over the wineglass he passed, he met her eyes. She looked torn between laughter and exasperation.

"Astoria, is that ladylike?" Mrs. Greengrass's censure was unmistakable. Daphne, if it were possible, glowed even more.

"No mama," Astoria returned evenly once she was able to speak again, although she remained a bit flushed. "I suppose choking to death is quite far from being ladylike. Don't worry, it won't cause you too much grief."

Draco had to admire her balls. Across from him Blaise's eyes widened then covered this up by staring determinedly at his steak and potatoes.

"So what is it you do?" Mr. Greengrass asked in between hearty bites of steak, talking loudly over the potential argument. Draco almost sighed in relief. It wasn't such a bad question. In fact, considering how well the few remaining Malfoy businesses were doing with the current economic climate and with so few resources left to him after his father's arrest, it was a way he could somehow prove himself to Astoria's parents.

"I wanted to focus on strengthening our assets," Draco began, his polite smile not so false. He felt Astoria's hand search for his under the table. He took it and weaved his fingers with hers. "If the market trend holds-"

"-Really," Mrs. Greengrass chided her husband. "Will you make _Draco_ more uncomfortable when you know a lot of their holdings were confiscated by the Ministry?" He felt Astoria tighten her grip and he took comfort in that. "Let's talk about better things, shall we," Mrs. Greengrass continued. "I just watched this wonderful play this month…."

"How are you holding up?" Astoria whispered once her mother became too engrossed to notice. He was about to give a non committal answer when he turned to her and noticed that she was nervous. "Because I'm afraid they'll say something that can never, never be taken back."

And it was with that statement that he realized, with honesty that comes to people taken by surprise, that he loved her.

The good feelings should have extended straight through the desert of tea and sweet meringue cake despite the similar conversation but maybe he underestimated her parents disapproval.

"How is your mother, Draco?" Mrs. Greengrass asked in between dainty bites of cake, most of which she merely pushed around her plate.

"She is quite well, Mrs. Greengrass. Thank you for asking." He believed that was a monumentally polite answer and resisted the urge to pat himself in the back. Next to him, he could see Astoria eyeing her mother warily.

"It's just that I don't see her that often anymore." Mrs. Greengrass licked some errant sugar from her lips before patting it with her napkin. "She wasn't at the Parkinson's tea or the Cedric Diggory memorial concert. I suppose she lost her taste for these events."

They both knew the reason wasn't any lost interest for socializing.

He felt his blood roaring in his ears, until sounds became muffled. He felt his face warm up and his vision blur at the edges. He didn't think he had ever felt this humiliated before, not even when Moody transfigured him into that animal. But he supposed stakes were higher now. He didn't want to disappoint Astoria.

"Mama!" Astoria's cry of outrage seemed so far away.

It's just that he wished Mrs. Greengrass had chosen another target. Himself or even his father he could have endured. But not his mother. For all of her faults, and he wasn't blind to them, he wished Mrs. Greengrass wouldn't talk about his mother.

He looked at his half finished dessert and wondered how much more of this meal he had to endure. The answer, it turned out, was only as much as Astoria was willing to.

"Oh," Astoria said in surprise, and pulled her wand out of her pocket. "It vibrated. Seems there's an emergency at St. Mungo's and they want everybody there. Don't worry papa, Draco can take me there."

Taking her lead, Draco feigned disappointment at the meal cut short.

"What? It's the weekend!" Daphne exclaimed.

"Illnesses do not take weekends off," Astoria's voice was a little bit more cheerful than was polite. "Besides, more time for you and Blaise alone together."

"I wish you would just quit that work!" Her mother muttered darkly.

"Our daughter has a remarkable mind…" Her father's voice was drowned out as they made their excuses quickly. If anybody noticed how come they opted to Disapparate outdoors rather than floo to the hospital, nobody commented on it.

888

They ended up in front of her flat in Diagon Alley. Somehow, sometime in between their flimsy excuses to her family and their running escape out of her house, their foul mood had turned into laughter.

They were still laughing riotously until they shut the door to her apartment behind them.

Astoria recovered first. "Are you okay?"

The question sobered Draco up.

Okay? Not really. At the end of the meal, Draco felt that he had been eaten up, chewed and spitted out.

He wanted to go back to the laughter, to the shared escape, because now that it's over, he'd have to face the truth: that her family, and perhaps the entire world, would never respect him. Maybe it was time to accept that there was no act that could atone for his past. Maybe reparation was an illusion.

He couldn't subject her to that, to being a half citizen in a society who will judge her by her association. She, who has done nothing, deserved better.

For a time it was wonderful. Like the days he spent in some Muggle park with her, when he was uninteresting, anonymous, not ostracized. Or the nights he spent in her arms when he was a man rather than a former Death Eater. When he was with her, he felt like he was more than his wasted past and that his future stretched out before him with a million choices, each brighter than the next and where fear has no place.

But it was an illusion, beautiful and unattainable, and the time has come for him to let it go.

"So we still have an entire afternoon." Astoria pulled him to her couch. "What do you think we could do." Her smile was sweet and suggestive.

"I don't know. Maybe it's better if I go home," Draco said softly. He stared at her coffee table. Refused to meet her eyes.

"Talk to me." Astoria's voice was thready and so unlike her.

His answering smile was only a movement of muscles, mechanical and didn't reach his eyes.

"I'll talk to you tomorrow." He kissed her forehead and each of her eyes closed. He didn't want to see her thoughts reflected in them.

"Promise?" Her voice was a whisper, as if she already knew and dared not to hope.

He left without answering.

He didn't talk to her tomorrow, or the next day, or the days after that. He didn't respond to her mail. He didn't answer the door when she went to Malfoy Manor. He let her stand there for the whole of thirty minutes as he stood just on the other side, his palm against the door while he imagined the warmth of her cheek beneath it.

The yearning was unbearable. But he was doing it for her. It was probably the most selfless thing he has ever done in his life.

* * *

AN: Thanks for reading! It means a lot.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary:** That Astoria never assumed things was both a blessing and a curse in the courtship of Draco Malfoy.

**Disclaimer: **This story is based on the books and characters created and owned by J.K. Rowling, Scholastic and Warner Brothers. The title and the lines of poetry come from Pablo Neruda's Sonnet XVII. No money is being made from this. No infringement on copyright is intended.

**Certain Dark Things**

**Chapter Four**

_I love you in this way because I don't know any other way of loving  
But this…  
-Sonnet XVII _from_ 100 love sonnets,__** Pablo Neruda**_

On the first month after they broke up, he had taken to passing by St. Mungo's on the way to Gringotts and he always did so around the time trainee healers clocked in.

Months back, the Prophet had published a series of articles regarding untoward "incidents" involving early morning and late evening travelers. Most were befuddled and robbed, but a few were subjected to acts of humiliation, found naked and gagged in public places.

Since then he had always felt it unsafe for her and when they were together, more often than not, he would walk her to work.

A group had claimed responsibility for the act and while they remained unnamed, they signed their work with a stylized skull with a snake tongue.

Draco wondered if they were Death Eater wannabes because he doubted they were actual Death Eaters. Most of the higher ups were in Azkaban and the lower ranking members were either serving out sentences like his own or were being meticulously watched.

Now that they were apart, he had taken to waiting behind the corners of the buildings that bordered St. Mungo's, eyeing the warlocks and vagabonds that littered the street. Until the doors of St. Mungo's closed behind her, ensuring her safety, his apprehension boiled over.

Then she would walk down the street and up the steps of the hospital. And suddenly, the grip around his heart would ease, as if those quick looks were exhales and he had held his breath in anxiety.

She looked well so he was happy- if happy was the term for it- even if that meant that he was the only one falling apart.

* * *

On the third month after their break-up, a large, tawny, barn owl carrying a letter with an official looking seal arrived at the manor.

The next day, in what was supposed to be one of the best of his life, he made his way to the Ministry.

He steeled himself against the stares. He avoided public offices for this reason, which post-Dark Lord, were littered with the most loyal of Dumbledore's allies. The clock tower incident was unlikely to be forgotten.

To his surprise, he was mainly ignored and the Ministry workers walked around looking harassed, morose and indifferent to everyone but their bosses.

At the designated MLE office, a pimply man a couple years younger than him, reading some smutty magazine barely looked up at Draco, but he moved his fingers like he was asking for the bill and pointed a finger on the counter.

Not even bothering with a greeting, Draco dropped the letter on the counter. The clerk, reluctant to look away from the picture of the buxom witch pleasuring herself, read the note with a slightly pissed expression.

He returned with a box marked _evidence_.

Draco was struck by the thought that for two years, this day was supposed to be monumental. In reality, it was all so ordinary. Another claimed box of evidence, another Apparition license renewed, another ban lifted.

888

When Draco arrived home, Malfoy Manor was as dead as the Bloody Baron and twice as quiet.

"Mistress is visiting Master," their house elf squeaked.

A wave of blackness rose up in him and it took him awhile to identify it as resentment. He tried to justify the feeling: He admired the fact that his dainty mother braved Azkaban weekly, occasionally twice weekly, to visit his father. But his mother knew his sentence was ending today. She could have visited tomorrow. They were supposed to be celebrating.

His resentment towards Narcissa vanished the moment he approached his desk in the library which now doubled as his office. On top of the business documents was a letter with his name written in a neat, recognizable cursive.

888

It was nearly seven.

Draco tapped his foot as he waited at the bottom step of St. Mungo's. It wasn't impatience. Nervousness. Excitement. Anticipation. Maybe even a little fear. But not impatience.

Her letter burned a hole inside his coat.

_Today's the day. Congratulations! You must be excited. It's a great achievement that you completed your sentence without breaking the law. I'm very proud of you. But more importantly, you should be proud of yourself. _

She had addressed the letter: _Yours, Astoria. _There was a visceral ache in his chest as he hoped that she was still his.

He adjusted the collar of his silk shirt, centered his tie and checked to make sure the creases of his pants were sharp. He had made reservations at this elegant Muggle restaurant that she had mentioned before that she wanted to try.

She stepped out of the hospital with her high ponytail coming loose, her glasses perched low on her nose, and a big, toothy grin on her face.

In actuality, she looked like an overworked librarian who had just won a gift certificate from Flourish and Blotts, yet Draco felt his breath hitch.

She was perfect.

Then she turned towards the person next to her. The tall, chiseled, dark haired man wearing the same trainee healer's clothes had his hand low on her back and his head bent close to hers. An invasion of personal space, if Draco were to judge, but Astoria didn't seem to mind.

Draco felt like an idiot. He tore the tie from his neck. A poor substitute for what he wanted to rent asunder- the heavy weight in his chest.

He had hoped. He had assumed when he knew better. He knew that she didn't assume, didn't color her words with hidden meanings. He knew now that she wrote that letter for the exact reason that she said: she was happy for him and she was proud of him and she simply wanted him to know.

With a crack he was gone and in the wake of his disappeared shadow was a bouquet of roses, its white blooms crushed underfoot.

888

Astoria's letter fed the fireplace, an offering of anger. He watched as the flames drew closer and a corner of the parchment warped in the heat.

Then before he could second guess himself, he retrieved the letter, smoothed it out and pocketed it.

It was past supper time when his mother found him in the library, a glass balanced on the arm of his chair and a bottle of firewhiskey by his feet.

"Have you eaten?" Narcissa's voice a rope through the haze of his intoxication.

"Have you?" Draco returned sullenly. "Don't tell me Azkaban serves guests now," In a day that proved that nobody cared for him, his earlier resentment towards her returned.

"What are you trying to say, Draco?" Through the bogginess of his mind, Draco barely registered his mother's sharp eyes and equally cutting words. "I'd like you to remember that while I am your mother, I am also his wife."

His head dropped into his hands of its own accord, weary in body and in heart.

"Why today, mother? You knew what today was. Why today?"

When she spoke, he knew without looking up that she had stepped next to him, even before her hands threaded gently into his hair.

"Because today you are finally free, Draco. And he is not. And he will not be for a very long time." Narcissa tilted his head up. "He needed me today.

"I needed you too."

"Yes Draco, but you needed me to share something happy with you and we will have the rest of our days to celebrate. But today your father felt hopeless and alone and I couldn't bear that. Someday when you meet the woman you would want to marry you will feel the need to give everything of yourself. Sometimes even beyond that."

Narcissa sighed and pulled a chair next to him.

"I am so sorry I am not a better mother, Draco. What I'm going to tell you, it's not an excuse. But maybe you would understand.

"When we were all younger, your Aunt Bellatrix, my other sister Andromeda and I were sent to polishing school. Bellatrix did everything perfectly and with ease but that was typical of her, being the eldest and the heir. Andromeda hated it and took every opportunity to sneak out and avoid lessons. But I, I may have struggled but I loved every minute of it. I didn't have the same ease of your Aunt Bella, but I loved the painting and the language lessons. But most of all I loved the dancing.

"I had wanted to become a ballet dancer. So I practiced as hard as I could. And part of the dream was to run away and marry my dance partner and join the Russian troupe and tour the world. Then I met your father and I forgot all about the Russian troupe and my imaginary dance partner. But not the dancing.

"No?" Drao never knew this about his mother. He tried to imagine her as the laughing, dancing, wild child. Something shifted inside him.

It was a common enough practice to marry out of duty to bloodlines, but he was hit by the conviction that he didn't want to know if his parents' marriage was such. Part of him wished that they had married for love.

He realized that months ago, before Astoria, he wouldn't think like this.

"No, my Draco." Narcissa continued. "At first I pined away in silence. He was meant for Andromeda and I knew that our parents were already making arrangements. So I kept my feelings hidden. Then Andromeda eloped with that mud- muggle. Suddenly I had a chance. Then talks turned to us marrying.

"I knew from the start that he wasn't the dancing type of man. I knew that marrying him would mean that I would give up dancing. But I loved your father. Very much. And the Black family name was enough to convince him to marry me."

In the months after the war, Draco had spent a lot of time thinking. One of the conclusions that he arrived at was his father did not deserve his mother, and considering the way Lucius gave their home for the Dark Lord to use, he also did not deserve a family.

At first, Draco thought it was an honor. Then the werewolf and his pack polluted their rooms with his vile manners and poor hygiene. Then the Dark Lord started placing them under the Imperius for brief stretches of time. Then there were the screams in the middle of the night and the wails that kept him from sleeping, all coming from the cellar. And his father knew all about this, and he still volunteered their house, the one place a person was supposed to feel safe.

He never thought that his mother craved and felt insecure about his father's affections for her.

"He doesn't deserve you. Not the other way around."

"No, Draco. Don't say that." She tightened her grip on his arm and sighed. "He loves me."

"But you just said-"

"Yes, but over the years he has proved that he does. Maybe he learned to along the way. I don't know. But I know that he loves me. He loves you too. I remember very clearly the look on his face when I told him I was pregnant, then his happiness the first time he held you. There are times when I wish he was a better father to you, but that doesn't mean he doesn't love you. Sometimes bad acts have good intentions. What I'm saying Draco is this: He treats you this way because that was the way his father treated him and your father doesn't know any better. But that does not mean he doesn't love you. That's just who he is. And I can't love him any less because of it."

_That still does not give him the right to do all of those things._ But Draco kept that to himself.

"You see Draco, sometimes we cannot choose who we love."

And that was what silenced all the angry voices in his head. Because _that_ he understood.

They sat silently like that for some time, with Narcissa occasionally taking sips from his glass of firewhiskey.

"Where did you go?"

"Out," Draco replied tersely.

"Ah," Narcissa said but didn't add to that. He had forgotten how perceptive her mother was when he was younger and he used to play Quidditch in her rose garden despite being told not to.

His mother gave him a small smile and ruffled the hair at his nape.

"Well, that's a nice shirt, Draco. When you take it off, don't wad it in a ball. You can destroy silk when you crumple it like that." She smoothed out the wrinkles on his shoulder then stood to leave.

"Mother."

Narcissa stopped and turned.

Draco stretched out his hand. "Would you like to dance?"

* * *

It was in the fourth month of their break up when he bumped into Daphne in Twilfitt and Tatting's. He had just entered the store when she stepped out of the fitting room and it took a moment before he realized what she was wearing. Swathed in several yards of white lace and tulle, Draco thought she looked like the talking wedding cake he once saw. All towering and blindingly white and quite hefty at the base.

"Draco." Her tone was as smug and icy as ever.

"Daphne," he returned in a bland tone while he revised his sentiment. A talking sheep, more like. While fluffy in white lace, there was a bleating, nasal tone to her voice.

"I suppose you would be available on my wedding. Not that there would be many social events in your calendar. Blaise insisted, you see."

But before he could open his mouth, Daphne continued. "I asked Astoria, naturally if it would be all right." Daphne's smile widened. "You know what she did?"

Draco waited for her to continue but it seemed she was waiting for him to fish for the information. Gritting his teeth he asked, "what?"

"She shrugged." Daphne tittered. "Just like that, shrugged. Of course Rodolfo would be going with her. Oh our parents are so happy about them. You know Rodolfo of the Ciano's of Italy. Related to a Marchese. You know how all those Italian nobilities are magical."

He knew it would happen at some point. Maybe that was the healer she was laughing with months ago. But the actual knowledge was bitter in his mouth.

Draco opted to shrug, not trusting his control over his temper, and even that action seemed strained. When the saleswitch approached him, he gratefully excused himself.

888

Five months after their break-up, a scroll was delivered to Malfoy Manor. It was white, inlaid with silver trim and decked with satin ribbons and lace. It said: _You are cordially invited to the Zabini-Greengrass Nuptials._

The thought of Astoria, dressed in a ball gown dancing with some dark eyed Italian nobleman was enough to turn him broody and he had already written a carefully worded refusal when his mother started moping around the Manor.

It would seem that his father had been cold to her during her last visit, making Draco suspect some newly developed condition, some form of depression and he was half tempted to tell his mother to just force feed his father pepper up potion by the bucketful. But he couldn't bring himself to do so. Not after that night months ago. She loved his father and he understood choosing what was best for a loved one over one's own happiness.

So he asked his mother to come with him instead and bought her a French designer dress for the occasion. The way his mother kept on stroking the fabric for days before the wedding was the only thing that lightened his mood. At least one of them would be happy attending this wedding.

888

Draco straightened his tie absentmindedly as he trailed his gaze around the room. Daphne and Blaise were dancing and wearing wide smiles. His mother seemed safe enough despite keeping company with vultures that a few months ago were gossiping about her. He tensed a bit, deliberating whether he should rescue her from the group but when she laughed, he felt the tension in his chest ease a bit.

Then his eyes landed on Astoria.

The whole evening, he tried to avoid looking in her direction but his gaze was drawn back to her, again and again, until he finally gave up on the futility of the act.

He wanted to talk to her, to hold her in his arms, to dance and to laugh with her but all he had left were furtive glances in her direction. Unless he acted in an abominable manner, desperation his only excuse.

888

He shouldn't have done it, but pain makes one self destructive in unexpected ways.

They were back in the place where it all started, on the balcony of the Greengrass Estate. He had managed it most ungentlemanly, by practically dragging her along and had it not been for the distraction that Potter's attendance had created, he would not have managed it at all.

He hated it, but he was once again indebted to the git.

She fought him all the way to the balcony and it had colored her cheeks and darkened her eyes. He had once thought that she was attractive but was not quite as beautiful as Daphne. How wrong he had been. Even angry, she mesmerized him.

His hand unconsciously moved to touch her lips and was halfway there before he realized it. He changed its trajectory and locked the sliding doors behind them instead.

She eyed him suspiciously and despite the sliding glass doors and the potted plants that managed to hide them, Draco felt unbearably naked.

She raised her eyebrow in an unspoken question. She had no intention to start this.

"I got your letter two months ago. About my wand," he clarified. "Thank you."

"Oh, you wanted to talk about that." Her face was expressionless and he wondered if there really was none or she purposely kept it that way. "You're welcome."

Then she turned away from him and had the doors partially opened when she suddenly dropped her head.

"Did you read it?"

"Yes."

Her hand froze over the handle. But when she finally faced him, she refused to meet his eyes.

"And the others?"

"Yes," he said hoarsely.

They stood immobile, unspeaking, for a moment weighed down by the air laden with words unsaid.

Then she shrugged her beautiful Gaelic shrug. "You never responded to any of them."

What was he to say?

Instead of answering, he asked the question that had been bothering him since meeting Daphne months ago.

"You and that guy seem to be enjoying yourselves." Draco knew he sounded bitter and realized that he couldn't disguise it even if he wanted to.

Her eyes narrowed. "If there is an accusation there somewhere, Draco, I prefer you own up to it."

"Do you love him?" He ground out the words.

"That's none of your business."

"Did you-" he looked away and took a deep breath. He lost everything, including a big chunk of his pride. He wasn't planning on losing it so completely that it would become unsalvageable.

They never said I love you to each other. And he knew that he lost the right when he gave her up. Except that now he had to give her up to another man. And before he could do that gracefully, he _needed _to know that what they had was real.

Her hand reached for his cheek and she turned his face towards her.

"Did I love you? Is that what you meant to ask?" She met his eyes head on. Her question was without preamble. _His_ incredibly brave Astoria.

He had to stop associating her with possessive pronouns.

The solemnity of her gaze struck him mute and he wondered if his grief showed on his face.

She dropped her hand and looked over her shoulder. Behind her, in the distance, Ciano was talking to her parents. Mr. Greengrass was patting his shoulder; Mrs. Greengrass had a smile as wide as the Great Hall in Hogwarts.

She deserved that kind of man and Draco never felt smaller in his entire life.

"Is there even a point to this?" She sounded plaintive. "I wrote you so many letters and you could not even be bothered to explain. I…." She shook her head, as if steeling herself and what Draco realized was that she was steeling herself against him. This was what they had come to- that she needed to choose her words around him.

"You made your choice, Draco. We both know you've lost the right to find out who I love." Her voice had turned resolute. Then she walked away.

With a faint click, the glass doors closed with an echoing finality.


End file.
